


Crystal Shards

by MonochromeSpark



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-09-19 11:31:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9438308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonochromeSpark/pseuds/MonochromeSpark
Summary: A collection of drabbles and short stories I wrote for my tumblr.





	1. Quiet

The medical centre of the Academy of the Law Enforcing was quiet as usual, the perfect silence interrupted only by the steady beeps of the medical machines.

It was quiet in Prowl’s processor as well, as he sat on a berth staring blankly at the wall in front of him. His spark was racing and there were strange pangs of dull pain, but in the black and white Praxian’s processor they had no meaning anymore. They were nothing more than a simple inconvenience.

After some time, behind the closed door he could hear the muffled sounds of a heated discussion and he knew he was the reason of it all. He knew it was his favourite teacher  arguing with the medics and members of the Academy’s administration about Prowl’s…treatment.

Perhaps not so long ago he would have felt ‘joy’ that someone cared. Or maybe ‘guilt’ that he made the older mech worry so much. Worry. What does it mean to ‘worry’? He should remember this, should he not? Worry was… Ah. This piece of data was not important.

Perhaps not so long ago he would have also ‘feared’ what the future would bring. And maybe he would have been ‘angry’ at the situation.

But now? Now those concepts were foreign to the future Law Enforcer. He knew the proper terms, but not the meanings behind them. Not anymore.

And why did his teacher even argue about it with the rest? It was _illogical_.

They said this kind of treatment was necessary.

They said his crashes will not be so frequent now; and he would also finally be able to reach his full potential. After all, his unique talents shouldn’t be wasted.

It was better this way. The young Praxian had his calculations and there was nothing to distract him anymore. So why did his spark ache in such odd way…? And why he had this strange impression that his processor was as…sterile as the rooms of the medical centre? Devoid of anything that would interfere with work.

They said it was better, but it was not… _right_.

 _Why_ it was not right?

According to the procedures, they should have asked for his permission. Medical operations of such importance cannot be performed without the patient’s consent. It is…illegal.

Why didn’t they ask?

_[Calculating: …10%]_

_[Calculating: …38%]_

_[Calculating: …59%]_

_[Calculating: …80%]_

_[Calculating: …96%]_

_[Calculating: …100%]_

He would have never agreed if they asked.

Prowl vented a quiet sigh and shuttered his optics.

This realisation should have caused… _something_. A reaction. He knew that not so long ago it would have been this way. And yet now…

Now his spark clenched again, but apart from this there was nothing.


	2. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so [Side Burn](http://tfwiki.net/wiki/Side_Burn_\(RID\)#Wings_Universe) technically isn't from G1 verse, but he’s a precious quirky baby and I really like the idea of him and Prowl being friends, so yeah.

Prowl tiredly tapped on the keypad to unlock the door to his small apartment. It was a long day, full or unexpected occurrences on patrol and way too much talking from his co-workers. Too many unwanted social situations to avoid or try to navigate through when he was left with no other chance, and he felt as if all of the energy has been drained from his frame. He desperately craved silence and safety of his room, with its comfortably dull lights and calming black walls. His spark longed for solitude.

The door finally opened, and he almost froze hearing the laughter clearly coming out of two different vocal processors. While he suspected that his wayward roommate might be at home, this caught him off guard. Sounds coming from the living room indicated that Side Burn was either watching something….not _exactly_ appropriate again, or…worse.

A the sole thought of if, part of him wanted to turn around and flee from his own home, but where else could he go? Seeking shelter at his newly appointed partner’s place two floors above suddenly seemed tempting, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Young law enforcer doubted he would be able to properly explain the situation to Skyshield without triggering a full-blown crash, and he certainly didn’t need that right now.

Wings flared out collecting data before he dared to move into the living room, and his assumptions seemed to be correct. It shouldn’t have surprised him, not with his tactical abilities. Prowl entered the room and stopped near the entrance, the work of his sensors now aided by the optics quickly analyzing the scene.

Sparkling shards of something that most likely started out as two energon cubes were scattered on the floor. 99,895% probability of the no longer present drinks being high-grade. In _his_ apartment. Chairs pushed aside in a chaotic, probably too rushed manner, since one of them was flipped over.  Too messy. Again, in _his_ apartment. And in the central part of the room…

Ah. Finally, the culprits.

A giggling red femme lied lazily spread across the table, her servo reaching gently towards the face of a blue mech that was leaning over her frame, his red optics more dimmed than usual.

The black and white Praxian tapped his fingers on the doorframe to attract their – clearly impaired – attention. Both turned towards his direction, their expressions indicating a mixture of embarrassment and surprise. Femme quickly averted her gaze, trying to hide her face against her partner’s shoulder plating, while Prowl’s roommate was desperately fighting to regain his composure.

“Oh. Wow. Uhm. Hello, Prowl~“ he hummed sweetly, one of his servos nervously scratching the back of his helm. Side Burn’s smile was…unnerving. Slightly too wide and sugar-coated with faked innocence that clumsily covered uneasiness. The law enforcer’s logic processor managed to identify it as an attempt at being _charming_. A _failed_ attempt.

Prowl’s optics locked firmly on the femme, and if looks could kill there would have already been a graying frame waiting to be disposed of.

“This is my table. Stop intruding it with your presence.“

“Oh come on, Prowl, you CAN’T be serious!” Side Burn whined, dramatically splaying himself across the suddenly very timid  femme. Her EM field strongly pulsed with embarrassment and anxiety.

Prowl’s optics narrowed and slowly, albeit firmly he raised one of his servos, finger pointing at the door.

“Get out.”

“NO! You CAN’T throw my guests out like that! She’s STAYING HERE!” was another noisy response, followed by Side Burn’s lips moving without actually letting out any sounds. The black and white Praxian successfully identified the soundless sentence as something along the lines of ‘she’s hot Prowl’.

“Your sentence is illogical. Your efforts futile. The action of removing the unknown citizen intruding my apartment is being carried out at this exact moment,” he simply replied, usual monotone voice slowly gaining deeper tones now. “Get out.”

Femme’s lips trembled and finally she managed to disentangle herself from under the blue mech’s frame, and with one final glance towards the enforcer she  darted towards the door and into the hall.

The sound  of footsteps on the polished metal floor was still audible when the black and white Praxian’s roommate slowly slid from the table venting an overly dramatic sigh as he flopped miserably on the floor.

“I have the right to have guests in our apartment!”  he pouted,  “and did you even SEE her, Prowl?! She was _red_. She was **_hot_**!”

“I, uh… I-” Pause, probably longer than appropriate. Uncomfortable.  Doorwings twitching ever so slightly. Battle computer suggested that it’s better ignore that part. “ _My_ apartment. Disobeying _my_ rules results in a complete removal from this location. ”

“Really…? So you are kicking  ME out of the house now…?”

“Affirmative.”

“…you can’t be serious, slagger.”

“I am adding ‘offence against the law enforcement officer’ to your list of charges.”

“That’s NOT funny, Prowl. Totally not cool.”

“Oh?”

“Wait… You’re doing it on purpose, huh? You want to annoy me.”

“Affirmative.”

“Just…shut up, okay?”

 


	3. Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place not so long after the beginning of war, before Prowl became Optimus Prime's SIC.

 

::Commander is-:: Before the sentence could be finished the comm channel burst with static, then got eerily silent as a new explosion shook the ground.

Watching his Commander’s graying frame hit the ground, the black and white Praxian didn’t even have to wonder what the end of that interrupted sentence was supposed to be.

In front of him, the battlefield turned into chaos in its purest form, as disoriented soldiers started to rely on their own rushed ideas than clear orders; not that the orders were perfect – Prowl would have changed a lot of his Commanders decisions if he only could – but they still gave the frontliners some guidance. Now, without them, everything could only get worse.

“I _told you_ it was a foolish idea,” Prowl murmured, before turning his gaze away. Perhaps he should feel at least a little bit sad to see the other mech deactivated, but at that very moment he couldn’t stop the relief that flooded his spark. Now there was no one to stop him, no one to ruin his plans and recklessly put the lives of their soldiers at stake.

And maybe it wasn’t _too late_ to do something…

Sensor panels caught some motion on his left and almost automatically Prowl sent an acid pellet in that direction, taking down the Decepticon before he even had the time to properly aim his weapon at the black and white Praxian.

With the next one he wasn’t so lucky though, and a bullet brushed one of the sensor panels sending a wave of pain through Prowl’s frame. For a second the entire world stopped and the tactician took a sharp vent, focusing his entire attention on turning his sensors to a lower setting.

It was a mistake.

The tactician realised it a moment too late; another enemy was already right in front of him, raising his weapon…only to hit the ground with a pained cry.

Prowl blinked and looked around, trying to figure out what has just happened, when a familiar black figure waved to him nonchalantly from behind the nearest rock.

“Steelguard,” Prowl’s voice was as monotone as ever and even if he did feel some relief and gratitude, he didn’t show that at all. There were much more important matters now, after all. “We need to get back to the base.”

* * *

"Sir, with all due respect, it is too dangerous. There are procedures, it is supposed to done by the entire tactical team. No normal Cybertronian is supposed to handle so much data at once!”

"Pulse. Do we _have_ an entire tactical team?" Prowl asked patiently, giving their Communications Officer a perfectly blank stare.

“No, Sir. But still-“

This time, the Praxian didn’t even allow the other mech to finish, cutting through his slightly panicked words with a sharp order, the usual quiet monotone turning just a bit deeper with subtle irritation, “I need all comm channels working as soon as possible. Preferably now.”

Oh, _of course_ normal Cybertronians weren’t supposed to be able to handle so much data at once.

But he wasn’t exactly a normal, average Cybertronian, was he? Being able to process and analyze enormous amounts of data in the shortest possible time in order to determine the best course of action in any situation was the very reason of his existence; the reason why he was commissioned by the Academy of Law Enforcing. Granted, outside of the training simulations, he had never directed anything bigger than a simple Enforcer mission in such way, but there was still 79,631% chance that his current plan was going to work.

And Prowl _trusted_ his battle computer more than he trusted anything else in this world.

His attention shifted from the conversation to the console and cables he was trying to untangle and put into the right order before actually using them ( Primus, why was this place so messy!), then, without even looking at his two companions, he added a short, “Steelguard, secure the door.”

The frontliner’s plating bristled at that and he stepped closer, placing a heavy servo on the Praxian’s shoulder, ignoring the smaller mech’s attempt to move away.

“Prowl,” the older mech’s voice was rough and dark, tinted with anger. “If you wanna commit suicide, we’re not gonna assist you with that.”

The tactician forced his sensor panels to remain completely still, hiding his own annoyance. He knew that the frontliner didn’t entirely understand what he was capable of doing – and Prowl has already learnt that other mecha didn’t always trust his battle computer as much as he did. But Primus, they didn’t have time for that nonsense now!

“If we return to the battlefield and direct the battle from there, the chances of survival of our unit are precisely 18,4956%. If we manage to remain alive for the entire time.” The tactician responded in an icy cold voice. “I am going to stay here and try to change the outcome of this battle while I still can do something. If you wish to leave, the door is right behind you. Pulse, re-establishing contact with our troops was _not_ a suggestion.”

In the silence that followed, Prowl simply started plugging the cables into the ports in his frame, one by one, not even waiting to give his processor time to adjust to the sudden influx of data.

And with numbers and words, came the soothing calm; in the chaos that raged around him, they were finally something stable. Something he could trust.

Battle computer spurred into action, calculations flashing through the tactician’s processors as he tried to analyze and catalogue them as quickly as possible, pulling out all the little bits he needed to form his plan.

“Not enough data…” He murmured, glaring at the console; of course, normally he could direct a battle with everything he had now – but this wasn’t just any battle. If he wanted to save his soldiers, he needed _more_.

A second of hesitation and white fingers quickly moved on the keyboard, activating codes and establishing connections deeper than he had honestly ever wanted. Slowly, the data flowing through his processors was joined by something new; shining constellations of moving points that appeared one by one, each one of them feeding his battle computer new information. Detailed parameters of every single Autobot soldier currently on the battlefield. And images, sounds, feelings.

Prowl’s optics brightened and flickered, then turned offline as he took few deep vents to calm himself. To be able to feel all of this at once was almost too overwhelming; that kind of direct connection was not something he was very familiar with, not something he had done before on such large scale. And he was quite certain, that after the battle his soldiers might not be too pleased that he directly invaded their privacy like this. It was a dirty little trick, after all, but he needed every information he could get now.

Next to him, the Communication Officer’s vents hitched when he noticed what the Praxian was doing.

“Sir, what are you…? This is-“

“Not entirely _ethical_ without the written permission from everyone involved, but not a breach of protocol.” Prowl’s voice was firm, even though almost barely audible. It wasn’t easy to focus on words while trying to analyze so much data at once.

But his own words almost made his tank churn. Back in Praxus or even later, in Iacon, Enforcer Prowl wouldn’t do anything unethical and he certainly wouldn’t try to present is as acceptable.

But right now, as the explosions kept rocking their little base and Autobot soldiers kept disappearing from his data feed right after a short word ‘deactivated’ flashed through his processor, it felt like those times were so long ago. War was neither a right place nor time for idealistic little Enforcers who only wanted to bring justice to this world, so Prowl had to change his methods, he had to adapt.

Cold, they called him. A sparkless drone. _Uncaring_.

Maybe they were right.

Or maybe he was right.

Time will tell, but now he had a job to do.

A battle to win.

 _Lives to save_.


	4. Unexpected

When Prowl took command of his unit in the middle of the battle after his commander was killed, and changed the entire strategy on a whim, managing to somehow coordinate the actions of his soldiers in a way that allowed them to successfully defend their position and win in a situation that initially seemed absolutely hopeless, the Praxian has never suspected that the word of this will ever reach the Prime.

And yet it somehow did.

Now, sitting quietly in the shuttle that was inevitably carrying him to an unpredictable future that lied beyond the meeting with Optimus Prime, Prowl was starting to feel painfully aware of every single inadequacy and every single defect present in his form.

Back in Praxus, as a Law Enforcer, he took pride in keeping his frame always perfectly clean and polished – as he firmly believed that the neat look was a reflection of the professional approach to work. But those times were gone and seemed oddly distant like a fading dream. And after all the time spent on the battlefield and in the improvised bases, so often constantly on the move, his plating was covered in all kinds of scratches and dents that he somehow failed to notice until now. Seeing his own reflection in the shuttle’s window, Prowl suddenly felt incredibly small and unworthy of the honour of meeting with the Prime that lied ahead of him.

And yet, when he got off the transport, not a single thing indicated his uncertainty and fear that were eating him up from the inside. Each step carefully calculated and firm, he walked through the hall with confidence. Wings flared up high with pride, the entire frame held straight, optics fixed on door far away.

The Praxian felt the curious gazes on his frame and heard intrigued whispers as he passed by the various mechs and femmes on his way, but he did not allow himself to stop or turn his helm to look at any of them, too afraid that if he allowed himself to lose his concentration even for a short moment, all of his confidence would suddenly slip away.

Entering the room, Prowl stopped near the door and clicked his heels together, standing at attention to salute the Prime. All the emotions perfectly hidden behind his calm and professional façade.

And he waited.

He expected to see someone like his former commander – quick-tempered, opinionated leader with sharp, icy cold voice and harsh, but professional movements – not really likeable, but rigorous and evoking just enough fear to force his soldiers into respecting him and listening without any objections.

But Optimus Prime welcomed him with a smile radiating from his optics and warm words, catching the Praxian completely off guard.


	5. Iacon

Prowl didn’t like Iacon.

He didn’t like it when he first moved to that unfamiliar city, back when he was just a simple Enforcer who got transferred there from Praxus, and he was absolutely certain that now, when he returned to Iacon to become Prime’s Second in Command, he _still_ didn’t like it.

To be fairly honest, the city probably wasn’t really so bad.

It was big and terribly crowded, yes; a little bit too chaotic for Prowl’s taste, though that description could fit many other places too. But it was also full museums, theatres and music clubs - and even with the war going on and slowly turning worse each day, it was still so full of life. After all the time spent with the crude frontliners in a dirty makeshift bases located more or less in the middle of nowhere, the black and white Praxian was almost grateful for the opportunity to be in a more _civilized_ environment again.

But still...this wasn’t Praxus.

This wasn’t a place he could call his home.

He already knew it when he first came here, anxious and full of doubt, but still willing to try to adapt to the new situation and it definitely hasn’t changed.

_"Iacon! The glorious city of Primes with all of its wonders is now waiting for us to discover its secrets! Enforcer Prowl, could you comment on how you are feeling right now?" Skyshield waved his servo in a way suggesting that he's just turned an invisible microphone towards his black and white companion, anticipation shining brightly in his optics._

_"Homesick," came the flat reply, almost instantly followed by a quiet vent._

_The dark grey Praxian dropped his humorous act and shot his friend a slightly worried look, his EM field flaring out ever so slightly with a mix of concern and subtle reassurance that he was still right here and ready to help if the other need him._

_During their entire travel from Praxus to Iacon, Prowl had been even more quiet and reserved than usual, keeping his doorwings perfectly still and actively staring at the seat in front of him - mostly to avoid accidentally making an eye contact with other mechs and femmes that travelled on the same shuttle. That short word was the first thing he had said since leaving their hometown._

_“I do not find this place pleasant,” the black and white Enforcer added after a moment, words perfectly monotone, as usual. “However, I believe I can survive here.” A pause, then gold optics turned to his work partner and_ friend _. “_ We _can survive here.”_

The newly appointed SIC vented a heavy sigh, trying to distract himself from the memories by continuing to research his new work colleagues. It was always good to gather as much data about his co-workers as possible before actually meeting them, as he firmly believed that going to a meeting unprepared was almost a _crime_.

Official information about them that he had found wasn’t looking too promising - though there were some exceptions, of course - and in some cases the Praxian briefly wondered who decided to make some of those mechs high ranking officers, even though they undoubtedly had some potentially useful skills - if their files were telling the truth.

There was a mildly irritated twitch of the doorwings when Prowl opened another file and instantly decided that he already disliked that mech, then another one when he realised that regardless of his own feelings on that matter he’ll still have to find a way to work with all those officers in an efficient way. Even if his own social skills were rather...lacking, which - according to his battle computer’s calculations - could become a problem; the fact that they all already knew each other while the Praxian has just arrived certainly didn’t help.

Back when he first came to Iacon, the city seemed cold and unfamiliar, but Prowl had someone he could truly _trust_.

Now it was different.


	6. Chaos

The rec room greeted the black and white Praxian with an almost deafening blast of loud music, shouts he didn’t even _want_ to understand, and laughter; a constant onslaught of irrelevant data coming at him with such intensity that it made both his sensor panels and his processor hurt.

Ah, he should have remembered that this evening was reserved for one of those ‘parties’ that two of his new crewmates organized from time to time. Jazz and Blaster were their designations, weren’t they…?

Prowl remembered reading their files before he even arrived in the Iacon base; despite some rather…questionable parts, both caught the tactician’s attention as they seemed to be quite talented, competent officers. At some point, he might have even been interested in them and their skills – in a strictly professional way.

Unfortunately, meeting those two _personally_ not only immediately changed the initial almost-good impression, but also made the Praxian cringe at the sole thought that he’ll be forced to work with them on a regular basis. Especially with _Jazz_.

It was a pity that two officers with such potential kept wasting their time on…on _this_.

This disgusting, almost offensive, _chaos_.

Chaos was something the newly appointed Second in Command disliked with burning passion, as it disrupted his perfectly logical, organized world and kept interfering with his carefully staged precious plans. It was wild and unpredictable. _Illogical_.

Wings twitched violently when the music got even louder and Prowl glared at the rec room door for the last time before disappearing in the dark hall. Excited voices and musical sounds followed him until he finally entered his office and locked the door.

Only then, the tactician allowed his wings to hang down tiredly in a very unprofessional manner and for a moment he shuttered his optics, simply enjoying the _silence_.

His office.

His own little kingdom of order and peace, with stacks of datapads arranged meticulously in alphabetical order on the desk, and maps glowing softly in the dim light. There were no unnecessary objects or sounds here; everything had its purpose. And while the others described it as boring – or even scary in some ways, for Prowl it was one of the very few places in this base where he could truly feel comfortable and simply focus on working for the Autobot cause, hopefully without any _annoying_ distractions.

Venting a soft sigh, the Praxian finally opened his optics and in a swift move picked up one of the datapads, wings flicking ever so slightly with something that might have been a subtle sign of _enthusiasm_ , but also _relief_.

Outside, music roared in the rec room and in the halls, joined by the laughter and shouts of his crewmates.

But here?

Here Prowl was _safe_ from the chaos.


	7. Officer Meeting

 “…the mission’s main objective is to…”

 Officer meeting.

One of the many similar ones.

Just like many times before, Prowl talked and explained, occasionally pointing at certain parts of the map.  

Words flowed not interrupted by anything, monotone and strictly professional, not straying from the main topic even for a moment.

It was a rather routine mission. There wasn’t much to say, and yet he was still meticulously explaining each step; each tiny detail of the plan was broken into even _more_ details and described with care.

There was a quiet snicker from across the meeting room and the tactician’s gaze shifted away from the datapad only to meet a bright blue visor.

Again.

::Jazz. Could you _please_ stop interrupting me?::

The only response he got was a triumphant grin that soon turned into a perfectly innocent – and perfectly staged – expression.

Again.

Prowl’s cold blue optics stared into that visor for another second before returning to the datapad.

His calm and professional façade never faltered.

_Oh Primus. Do not let them notice anything. Do not let **him** notice anything._

His voice never wavered.

_Concentrate on the presentation._

Words flowed.  

_Look at the datapad._

Jazz interrupted him again, this time with a silly little comment that snapped the other officers from their state of absolute boredom.

_It is such a nice voice, is it not? So full of life._

SIC continued explaining the plan as if nothing happened.

_Oh Primus, what am I even thinking about._

Jazz smiled.

_Was his smile always like this…?_

Deep inside Prowl’s spark fluttered in a way he couldn’t completely understand.


End file.
